I had everything I ever wanted to say to you organized in my head but forgot it all when you took my palm in your hand and with your index finger wrote “disaster.” If you were to ask me how I ended up here, I don’t even know. Every night at 8:25 I can’t believe it’s already 8:25 and I’m so happy it’s only 8:25. Sometimes I find tragedy reassuring. Sometimes the cat licks my neck. I don’t want to think about where I’ve been or where I’m going anymore. Sometimes I just want to cry. Sometimes I just want to sit in a quiet space. It’s within me to rip my own head off. Let me tell you about the city. It’s a city of lavender. I can’t remember its name. There aren’t enough bank holidays. Someday you’ll read this and understand what type of person I am.